In the Nick of Time
by mrsmish
Summary: I found no listing for either the book or movie Where the Truth Lies, a film noir released in 2005, starring Kevin Bacon and my favorite actor, Colin Firth. I wasn't happy with the outcome for Colin's character, Vince Collins, and decided to write my own


Part 1

Vince, I was told, had left for Miami.

Miami? That was odd, I thought. What could he possibly be doing in Miami? On a hunch, I called the Versailles and asked for Vince Collins. No such person registered, they answered.

I called Vince's office in LA again, and the secretary mentioned he had left a letter to be mailed to me. I told her not to mail it and that I would be by to pick it up.

I broke the speed limit laws in driving to the office, but as it was LA and everyone did likewise, no one noticed! The secretary, a bored-looking blonde with very long, red nails, handed me the manila envelope. I opened it as soon as I got back to my car, to find the compromising photos of myself with Alice that Vince had blackmailed me with the previous day, before he broke down in tears and left.

The accompanying note was brief.

Dear Karen

Please accept my sincere apologies for the terrible thing I did to you. None of this is your fault, and I have come to think of you as a friend, perhaps the only one I've had in many years. I will never forgive myself for trying to hurt you.

Lanny seems to think I murdered Maureen. I can't remember, but what I did to you yesterday proved I was capable of it.

I am so tired, Karen. I can't go on anymore, and I have to go back to where it all came apart for me.

Forgive me. Please forgive me.

Vince

I had an awful vision, of Vince, alone in Miami, wanting to...it was unthinkable. I only hoped I could get there in time.

The moment my plane landed in Miami, I phoned the Versailles again and asked whether Vince Collins was registered there. The receptionist said no one by that name was listed on their register. Are you sure, I asked. Tall, handsome, British accent...

Oh, she answered. We did have a gentleman check in an hour ago who answered to that description, but his name was Lanny Morris.

Alarmed at this evidence of Vince's calm facade unraveling, I begged her to send someone up to his room, that I feared he was ill, or worse. She seemed hesitant, saying he had left explicit orders not to be disturbed. I urged her to send someone up to check on him, and again, she didn't seem to take me seriously. I hailed a cab and asked to be taken to the Versailles. When I got there, I made a scene in the hotel lobby, demanding the room number of the man who called himself Lanny Morris, and when she told me he was in a fourth floor suite, which he had specifically requested, I told them it was urgent, I feared he might have harmed himself. Finally, seeing my distress, they took me seriously, and when we got to his room and I banged on the door and got no response, the bellman reluctantly used his passkey to open the door. 

I ran through the rooms. His bags were on the floor, and I could hear water running in the bathroom. With a sinking feeling, I opened the bathroom door and my worst fears were realized. Vince, wearing a tuxedo, lay submerged in a tub full of ice and water, three empty champagne bottles and several vials of sleeping pills on the floor next to him.

"Call 911!" I shouted, as the bellman and I dragged Vince, who was blue from cold, out of the water. He did not seem to be breathing.

I pounded his chest and began to administer CPR. I realized I was sobbing, but I had to control myself if I would have a chance of saving him.

"Breathe, Vince. Damn you, breathe!"

After a weak cough, his chest finally began to rise. He opened his eyes briefly, seemed to recognize me, then he slipped back into semi-consciousness. His skin was cold and clammy, and I realized I had to get his body temperature up, and quickly.

I stripped him of his wet clothes, then held him close, warming him with my own body heat. I asked the bellman to bring me a warm blanket, and I wrapped it around both of us. He was cold, he was trembling and muttering incoherently, but he was alive.

"Why didn't you let me die?" he whispered. "My life is worthless. No one would miss me, or even know I was gone."

"You are NOT worthless," I answered him. "And I would miss you, Vince. Don't you know that?"

"I tried to kill you," he answered, and he began to weep.

"No. NO," I said. "Vince, if you truly had it in you to kill me, you would have, but you didn't! I couldn't have stopped you, honey, you stopped yourself."

Just then the paramedics arrived, and they had to pump out the sleeping pills from his stomach. I could see that, even in his drugged stupor, Vince was humiliated at my witnessing this.

"You are a very lucky man, Mr. Collins," one of them said. "Another fifteen minutes, and we would have lost you."

They put him on a stretcher to take him out to the ambulance. Vince reached for my hand.

"Stay with me?"

"Of course," I said, squeezing his hand. "I won't leave you, VInce."

I sat next to him in the back of the ambulance all the way to the hospital. There was an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth, so he couldn't talk, but there was such sadness and pain in his eyes. I stroked the hair back from his forehead.

"You're going to be all right, Vince. I promise, love, I'll take care of you."

It was touch and go that night, Vince drifting in and out of consciousness, but every time his eyes opened, he appeared to take comfort from seeing me, so except for a couple of brief trips to the ladies room, I never left his side. Around 4 a.m., I fell asleep in the chair next to his hospital bed, awakening a few hours later when a nurse came in to check on him.

"Would you like some breakfast Miss O'Connor?"

"Oh that would be lovely," I answered, realizing I hadn't eaten in 24 hours and that even hospital food sounded tempting. "Will Vince be able to eat something?"

"I'm afraid not," she answered. "He'll be fed intravenously today, to give his stomach a chance to recover from the effect of all those pills."

As I finished my cold cereal and coffee, Vince began to stir. He opened his eyes, blinked his eyes a few times, and seemed to have some difficulty focusing. I immediately went to him and took his hand.

"Hey," I said. "You scared the crap out of me."

"Sorry," he said softly. "How'd you figure out where I was?"

"I'm a journalist. It's my job to figure things out."

He nodded, then winced in pain. "My head. It's aching."

"Too many pills, Vince. You're lucky to be alive, darlin'."

"Yeah, right. Really lucky."

"You listen to me, Vince. I don't believe you killed Maureen O'Flaherty. I don't care how out of it you were that night, no one murders someone and doesn't remember anything about it."

"So what are you saying? Do you think Lanny killed her?"

"No. No, I don't. There's something we aren't seeing. First order of business is to get you out of here and help you get well, Vince. Then I'm going to set my mind to it and figure out what really happened."

"My, my, Miss O'Connor. Very bossy you are. How do you propose to help me get well?"

"I'm moving in with you," I said defiantly.

"Oh, really? I told you, I like living alone."

"Bullshit. You need someone to take care of you and make sure you don't take any more of those damn pills you pop like candy. And it's going to be me."

"I can't function without them. Can't get going, can't get to sleep."

"You're going to have to learn. And after this episode, no doctor in his right mind will prescribe them for you!"

He blinked, hard, and sighed. "Bad headache," he said.

I got up and soaked a washcloth in cold water, then draped it across his forehead.

"Better?"

"Yes," he said. "Karen?"

"Yes?"

"You're really...much too kind."

"Shut up and go to sleep, Vince," I said, trying to sound harsh, but I tempered my words by leaning down and kissing him softly on the lips.

Part 2

Vince did not protest very strongly at my plans to move in with him. He said he was accustomed to living alone and saw no need to change that now, yet I know he liked having me there in his hospital room. He did not communicate much, never really discussed his suicide attempt nor the motivation behind it after that first awful night. In fact, he avoided the subject entirely. I knew he would need to talk about it, not only with me but eventually with a professional counsellor. In some ways, I still blamed myself for what had happened. After all, I had echoed Lanny's opinion that Vince had murdered Maureen, and it was my accusation that had driven him to the attempted suicide.

I knew I was having feelings for Vince, and I was not sure I was comfortable with those feelings, or if I even wanted him to know about them. I felt obligated to look after him; having been so ill myself as a child, perhaps I needed to assume the Florence Nightingale role and in some way repay him for the interest he had taken in me all those years ago. How odd it was how the tables had turned; I was 28, Vince was 43, but I felt older than him in some ways. Both he and Lanny had, as a a result of their phenomenal fame, been catered to so much that they had never really grown up. 

I should mention that even though Vince suspected he had killed Maureen, he had never discussed his motivation. I did not think he was ready to talk about it, and decided to let him broach the subject if and when he was ready.

Vince was released after three days in the hospital, with an appointment for his first psychological consultation in a week's time. His doctor approved of my moving in with him. I realized that Vince had no one else. He was estranged from Lanny, who had been his closest friend, his parents were both dead, and he had no siblings. If he had any extended family in England, he hadn't seen them in years, and he never talked about it.

The first night at Vince's house was tense. He wasn't accustomed to having anyone else in his house, and in some ways, he still acted like he was alone. He rarely spoke to me and spent most of the day reading or watching television. Yet, when I left the room, he followed me anxiously with his eyes, as though uncertain I would return. 

He was accustomed to taking a couple of pills every night so that he could relax sufficiently to fall asleep. They were strictly forbidden to him now; in fact, his house had been thoroughly cleared of any and all drugs. After a quiet dinner, he sat on the sofa in his robe and pajamas, wide awake and edgy. He snapped at me every time I tried to start a conversation, even on the most innocuous subjects.

Finally, at around midnight, he stood and began to pace the room. "I can't sleep without taking something!" he snapped.

I went to him and put my hand on his arm. "You know that isn't possible, Vince," I said softly. "Why don't you at least lie down, try to relax?"

"I can't!"

I took his hand and led him into the bedroom. 

"Take off your robe and pajama tops and lie down, Vince."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Don't get any ideas," I said. "I'm not seducing you, I thought a massage might help relax you."

He finally smiled.

"As you wish," he said, removing the two garments as requested.

Wearing just pajama bottoms, he lay face down on the bed, which had already been turned down.

I had actually taken a course in massage during my college days, and I started by massaging his scalp, then worked my way down to his shoulder blades. Yes, he was definitely tense, but he did start to loosen up at my touch.

After ten minutes of massaging his arms and shoulders, I began to gently rub his neck, and he finally began to truly relax. A contented sigh escaped him and he closed his eyes. I thought he might even be asleep, but then he turned his head to the right and kissed my hand. He didn't speak, or even open his eyes, and I knew it was his way of thanking me.

At 43, despite all the chemical abuse he had inflicted upon his body, he was a beautiful specimen of a man. He was tall and well built, with a wide chest and well-muscled arms. He was nearly asleep, and I gentled my touch, stroking his skin and his hair. Just a frosting of grey at the temples made him even more attractive in my opinion.

"Lie down next to me. Please?" he whispered.

I couldn't resist saying, "I thought you preferred to be alone Vince."

"Not tonight."

I hesitated, but finally decided there was no harm in doing as he requested. There was nothing sexual about it; early in our acquaintance, when I first began interviewing him, we had discussed sleeping together when the book was finished, and the subject had not been discussed since. He almost seemed to have forgotten about it.

I got into bed next to him and turned onto my side. He did the same, pressing his body up against my back, and in a matter of minutes, he was asleep. His arm was draped casually around my waist, and I took his hand in mine before I fell asleep myself.

I was awakened by Vince's thrashing about a few hours later. He was talking in his sleep in an agitated manner, but I couldn't make out what he was saying.

I tapped his shoulder. "Vince! Vince, what is it?"

His eyes flew open and he looked at me as though he didn't recognize me.

"Lanny. I shouldn't have...what did I do?" His voice was shaking.

"Shouldn't have done what, Vince?"

He sat up on the bed and buried his face in his hands. He shook his head. "I can't. I can't talk about it."

"Did you and Lanny argue that night, Vince? Were you fighting over Maureen?"

He laughed derisively. "If only it had been as simple...as normal...as that."

"Tell me, Vince."

"I didn't want Maureen, not really. I only wanted her as a means of being with Lanny. I wanted Lanny, Karen."

"So...you're telling me you are a homosexual, Vince?"

"I've been with more women than I've been with men. In fact, I hadn't been with another man since my school days. But Lanny...well, I loved him."

"And how did Lanny feel about it?"

"He was revolted. Disgusted. Called me a queer. Couldn't even look at me. Get the picture?"

"And how does this tie in with Maureen's murder?"

He hesitated. But he'd told me the worst of it already, and I was handling it better than he'd expected, so he answered.

"She wasn't the innocent college girl she appeared to be. Apparently she decided my little weakness was something she could use to make some money. Blackmail, big money. So yeah, I had a motive to kill her."

"And since then?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your sexual partners, Vince."

He looked down and shook his head.

"I haven't been close to another human being of either sex since then. Well...there's been the occasional professional blowjob or quick screw, but intimacy? I wouldn't know how."

I nodded sympathetically.

"Don't look at me like that, Karen. Spare me your pity. I have no desire to be with anyone."

"You asked me to sleep next to you tonight, Vince. Why?"

"Next best thing to sleeping pills," he said coldly. "Body heat."

"You kissed my hand when I was rubbing your shoulders," I said softly. "Or did I imagine that?"

He looked away. No answer.

"What happened after Lanny rejected your sexual advances, VInce?"

I could see him struggling to maintain his composure.

"I crept away like the disgusting deviate he thought I was and went to bed. Any other questions?"

"Yes. Other than Lanny's deduction that you killed Maureen...for no other reason than his knowledge that he did not, and no one else had the opportunity...do you have any other reason to believe you killed her?"

"I'd had violent episodes in the past. Beat the crap out of a heckler once...and look what I tried to do to you, or don't you remember? I had my hands around your throat, Karen."

"Yes, and you stopped yourself, and you were shattered by it, Vince. That's what I remember. And Vince, there is a big difference in those two incidents...you remember them, in detail! Lanny had every bit as much motivation to kill Maureen as you did, yet you don't suspect him in the least! Why do you find it so easy to believe the worst about yourself?"

He was sitting at the edge of the bed, head down, hands clasped tightly between his knees.

I began to stroke the back of his head. He made no response, but he didn't push me away, either.

"Let me tell you what I think, Vince. I don't believe you killed Maureen, because I don't believe you are capable of it, and because you had taken so many pills that night that it took both Lanny and Reuben to get you up the next morning. Do you really believe you got out of bed, killed Maureen, then went back to sleep...and don't remember any of it? Yes, both you and Lanny were guilty of some sordid and unprincipled behavior, but Maureen was an adult, and from what you've told me about her, she was no innocent. If anything, I find it more difficult to forgive Lanny, because far worse than what the two of you did that night is what he's done to you, Vince!

"I think it's time we spoke to Lanny. Go over every moment of that night, in detail."

He shook his head.

"I can't," he said, his voice breaking.

"Vince, the truth of what happened that night cannot be any worse than what you've accepted as the truth for these 15 years."

"Leave me alone, Karen. Get out. I don't want you here."

"Too bad. According to Oriental tradition, once you've saved a man's life, you're responsible for him forever."

"Lucky you," he said bitterly.

"Yes! YES," I almost shouted. "I do feel lucky, Vince, and do you know why? Because when I think of the alternative, what would have happened if I didn't see your letter sooner than you intended and dragged you out of that bathtub, I realize that I'd be at your funeral instead of in your bed."

"Karen...he said quietly, and then suddenly he was holding me, his arms clasping me close to him. "I've become so hardened that I can't imagine anyone, least of all someone like you, giving a damn about me."

And then, after looking at me anxiously to see if his gesture would be welcome, he kissed me.

I hadn't moved in with Vince with the intention of becoming his lover, but all it took was his first kiss to change my mind. Whatever I'd thought of Vince Collins before this morning was totally cast aside. He was passionate, but gentle, considerate and sweetly unsure of himself. Not at all what I would have imagined.

"I'm too old for you," he protested, as I reached between his legs to stroke him.

"Hmmm...no, I don't think so, not judging from what I feel here, Vince..."

"I'm not accustomed to sharing myself with anyone, Karen."

"Well, why not try sharing a part of you first, Vince," I answered, lying back onto the bed and pulling him on top of me. "And I know just where I'd like to start."

Part 3

The morning after, I awakened first. So now I'd slept with both Lanny and Vince.

I didn't even want to think about the implications of this. I'd moved in with Vince because - and I will never admit this to him - I felt sorry for him. I knew my questioning him so harshly that day in Los Angeles had pushed him over the edge and made him think the only way out was taking his own life. I'd destroyed him, then saved him, and I felt it was my responsibility to pick up the pieces.

But something happened that night that changed everything. I fell in love with him.

I'd always felt a strong sexual attraction to him. The night he took me to Disneyland (wow, it seems like ages ago), and we went on ride after ride, huddled in the dark like two teenagers, I was almost giddy. He was the sophisticated, suave, older man, and I looked up to him. I wanted him badly, but knew it would interfere with the book I was writing about him if I gave into my desire, and he knew it, too, which is why we agreed to wait to consummate our lust until after the project was completed.

I'd already slept with Lanny, had absolutely no guilt about it, and honestly didn't think it had anything to do with my feelings about Vince. Why should it? We had no claim on each other. For all I knew, Vince had a stable of girlfriends at his disposal.

It turned out I was totally wrong about Vince. In his suicide note, he'd said I was perhaps the only friend he'd had in years. Some friend I was, huh? I slept with his ex-partner then drove him to suicide by repeating Lanny's suspicions that he was responsible for Maureen's death, a conjecture that even then I found questionable.

Ironically, I believe now that I, a relatively obscure writer of 28, had had more sexual partners in the recent past than 43-year-old man-of-the-world (or so I thought) Vince Collins. However, that night was the first time in a long time that I'd made love, if you understand the difference. 

Vince Collins was a fabulous lover. Better than Lanny, because there was a depth of feeling in him that took me totally by surprise. Vince had always kept his emotional distance from me, which I attributed to his professionalism, but now I realized there was a vulnerability there that he didn't want to reveal. The last person he'd truly loved was Lanny, and that love had nearly destroyed him. 

That's why I made the first overtly sexual move last night, after Vince kissed me. I knew this was no platonic kiss; he wanted me, and he didn't know how to ask. He admitted later that he feared rejection because...get this...he thought I might have been revolted by his admission of bisexuality. (How quickly he had forgotten my own foray into new sexual territory with Alice! I love men, mind you, but the experience with Alice was not entirely unpleasant!) Vince's mindset was still in the 50's, I suppose, even though it was 1972 and the sexual revolution was in full swing.

There were only two of us in the bed that night, one man, one woman, and no one else was necessary. Vince was a skillful, almost worshipful lover. His hands caressed every inch of my skin, his mouth was on every part of me. And he was so damn beautiful; long, lean and toned, despite his assertion that he never exercised! Gorgeous soft brown hair, eyes that looked golden in sunlight, deep brown this morning in bed. Just a bit of down on his chest, trailing down his tummy, ending in a curly nest just above a very impressive piece of male equipment that figured largely in my pleasure the night before. "Largely" being the operative word!

I wrote those words in my head in bed that morning before I wrote them down on paper. Lucky for Vince that he awakened soon after, because I would have pounced on him. As it was, I decided that the fairest way to ease him into the new day was with my mouth, as the oral pleasuring the night before had been one-sided, with Vince doing all the work. He made sure I was satisfied, several times, before he took his own pleasure, and then we both fell into a deep, contented sleep. Seems we had discovered a surefire method of dealing with Vince's dependency on sleeping pills! He would be getting a good night's sleep every night from here on in, I thought, after I loved him to exhaustion!

After I'd taken care of Vince orally, we cuddled a bit until he felt rejuvenated (amazing powers of recuperation for a man of 43!), then we made slow, sweet love again. I loved the weight of him on top of me, I loved his incoherent speech, I loved the way he didn't want to let go of me afterwards. I loved HIM, dammit.

But he was the one who said it first, and my heart melted at the risk he was willing to take.

"I love you, Karen. You've made me feel like life is worth living again." And then he looked at me in that wry, watchful way of his, that said, "Go ahead, break my heart."

I would have told him I loved him even if I didn't at that point. But thankfully, lying was not necessary, because I had fallen completely and utterly in love with the man and immediately told him so.

His face just lit up. I'd never seen him smile like that before, with his eyes as well as his mouth. He kissed me, this time with a confidence and possessiveness that hadn't been there the night before, and then he said, "Hungry?"

"Sure," I said. "Are you cooking? Because I can't!"

"I certainly can. No live-in help, remember?"

I refrained from pointing out that my having no "help," live-in or otherwise, had never inspired me to cook! It just meant that breakfast was instant coffee and toasted Wonder bread!

Vince, though, whipped up an impressive traditional English breakfast of bacon, sausages and eggs, and the kind of tea that you didn't make with teabags.

"You, my dear," I said between bites, "are most definitely a keeper."

"Good," he said huskily. "Because I want you to stay, Karen."

"I intend to, Vince. And we're going to exonerate you, Vince, when we find out the truth of what happened in Miami."

He was quiet then.

"Karen?"

"Yes?"

"What if...what if you discover I did kill Maureen? How will you feel about me then?"

He couldn't look at me after he asked.

I thought about it, and I answered as truthfully as I knew how.

"First of all, I do not believe you killed Maureen, and someone will have to prove to me that you did kill her before I believe it. Simply pointing out that no one else could have killed her is not sufficient evidence, Vince, no matter what Lanny says. I don't believe Lanny killed her, either, but as far as I am concerned, there is no more evidence linking you to the murder than him.

"And if the unthinkable - to me, anyway - is true, and you did kill her, it won't change how I feel about you and I won't stop loving you. Is that what you're asking?"

"Yes," he answered. "It's just...just so difficult to believe."

"What's difficult to believe?"

"That you could love me that much."

"Vince, the man you are now is the man you are now, no matter what happened 15 years ago."

"And what if you'd known me then?"

"Vince, that's an unfair question. I was 12 years old! Jailbait!"

That got a smile out of him.

"Don't be afraid of the truth, Vince," I said. "I'll be with you, every step of the way."

"More tea?" he asked.

"Mmm...no," I said. "I'd like some more of something else, though!"

He happily obliged. As I said before, the man's powers of recuperation were remarkable! 


End file.
